


A Quiet Man

by Lightspeed



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Gratuitous Backstory, Lich, Loud Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Rimming, Romance, Undead, Undead Blanc, eternal universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: Blanc is a very quiet man, and has been for a long, long time.  Jingo brings his voice out, in more ways than one.





	A Quiet Man

**Author's Note:**

> Jingo and Blanc are mine and my husband's D&;D characters that I've written stories about and shipped for years. Someday I'd like to write a book or two telling their whole story. But Cliff's Notes for the purposes of this story? Their species is flin, which is kind of comparable to 3rd edition halflings with a culture closer to hobbits based quite a bit on community. Jingo is 3'4", Blanc is 3'0". Blanc is a necromancer who has since become a lich by virtue of his body being kind of corrupted by negative energy. He's accidentally responsible for the death of his late wife Mayflower and his later fiance Zuma. He's led a life of trauma and lonliness. Until he met Jingo and through shenanigans, he and Jingo's souls are literally stuck together. They're accidentally immortal, and much adventuring has happened over the years. Because of their bond, Jingo is the only person Blanc can touch skin-to-skin without harming. (Technically his touch heals Jingo but that's unimportant here.) Eventually romance happened.

Blanc was a quiet man.

It was one of the first ways someone would describe him, short of his striking physical appearance. Black hair over one eye, dark clothes, dead eyes, bandages wrapping the entirety of his right arm, paper-white skin; all notable, all strong descriptors. But when you asked someone to describe Blanc the person? The first word, always preceding any details of his morose personality and acerbic wit, was, 'quiet'.

One could not be blamed for this. Blanc was, indeed, quiet most of the time. He spoke little, often cooped up in his own head, his own thoughts. For most of his life, it had been a simple demure nature. For most of his unlife, it had been that his mind was a slurry of traumas and dissociation. He had mastered self-deprecation as the conveyance of his few words, alongside his mastery of self-loathing.

Even after being linked to Jingo, their souls inextricably bound together, he had been taciturn for a time. At first, it was out of unfamiliarity. He was unsure how to handle this bombastic man who had stumbled into his unlife, blustering into his world like a heavy wind slamming open a screen door.

Blanc was used to ostentatious personalities. His wife, Mayflower, had been a warm woman with beaming smiles and jokes aplenty. It hid a deeper sorrow, but outwardly, she was bright and sunny. Zuma, whom he had intended to marry, whom had been the first point of light in his unlife, was a punster, a vivacious, vibrant woman, whose magic was as dangerous to her as Blanc's was for him.

And now, there was Jingo. Jingo, whom had worked his way under Blanc's skin and burrowed in, like a chigger. Jingo whose love of bad jokes and toothless flirtation had driven him to frustration. Partly, it had been born of the sort of insufferable swagger that was the man's trademark; all waggling eyebrows and fingerguns. In greater measure, Blanc had realized, it was because the bastard reminded him of the women he'd lost, and amid his generalized exasperation, he had found himself questioning things about himself he'd previously never given thought to. For a man who had lived three decades, and been undead for far longer, such a shift in paradigm brought about a raise in his hackles just as powerful as his general distaste for Jingo's awful, awful jokes.

Awful jokes that had, somehow, somewhere along the line, grown infuriatingly endearing.

Over time, Blanc grew less and less the quiet, retreating man, coming out of a shell he hadn't known he'd crafted. Soon he was shooting back at Jingo's jabs and japes, snark emerging as his mother tongue. They shared long, thoughtful conversations about the nature of the multiverse, of magic, of memory. They swapped stories of their lives and unlife, finding their common ground amid their differences. And of course, Jingo sought to teach flin cultural mores to Blanc, who had grown up around humans.

Jingo had managed to drag Blanc kicking and screaming away from the descriptor of 'quiet', even if it was only in the private moments shared by the two of them. But even so, he always sought to push him a little further, always further.

 

“Nnnh! Fuck,” Blanc hissed, arching into the wet heat of Jingo's mouth. His tongue laved over the head of the smaller man's cock, pulling his hips up in judders to chase the sensation. The redhead's hands came to rest on Blanc's pale thighs, forcing him down onto the bed, to hold a bit more still as he took him deeper into his mouth.

Jingo hummed in appreciation as Blanc gasped, a soft whine leaving his throat as his eyes fell closed, and he tried to relax into it. He pet at Jingo's messy, ruddy hair, blunt nails scratching appreciatively as his scalp as that hot tongue cupped and caressed him, sending ripples of electric heat through him.

It was music, to Jingo. The beautiful, gentle sounds of Blanc's pleasure. The song of his beloved in the throes of ecstasy. The poor, sweet man feeling wholly good, without asterisk or footnote to blemish the sensory experience. He loved the sounds Blanc made during sex. Breathy whines, panting gasps, throaty moans, they were all lovely. Blanc's taciturn nature only made Jingo chase it harder, a challenge to be overcome. He would not only please his lover, he would have him wailing his pleasure to the heavens before it was done. He would loose Blanc's voice in jubilation before he could consider his work complete, even if it meant edging the poor man for hours until he couldn't even think anymore, reduced to a creature of pure sensation. Luckily, he didn't have to work so hard tonight.

Pulling off of Blanc's cock with a loud slurp, he kissed his way down the underside of that hard, flush length and nosed into the smaller man's balls, sighing quietly at the softness of his skin there. His scent was strong, his skin deathly cool, and Jingo turned his head to nip lightly at the lich's thigh, earning a gentle gasp.

“So soft,” Jingo mused, nuzzling at Blanc's balls again. He laid a long lap against his sac, the texture of his tongue pulling the loose skin along with it, and nosed in again, taking a breath, enjoying his lover's scent.

“Mmm,” was Blanc's answer, petting with less urgency at Jingo's hair. “Feels good.”

“I'm glad.” Jingo kissed one of the smaller man's balls, watching the skin of his scrotum ease under the warmth of his touch.

Blanc looked down the length of his body, past his hard, pink cock, to Jingo. The taller man reclined comfortably between his legs, studying his lover as if he'd never seen his naked body before; like he'd never seen his cock and balls before, in spite of having found himself there many times. The novelty never wore out for the enamoured swordsman, utterly reverent of his lover. It made him imagine a flutter in his chest, knowing full well his own heart no longer beat, that magic was what animated him, what got him hard, what allowed him to be an active participant in making love with the frustratingly gorgeous man nosing lower between his thighs.

“Lift your legs,” Jingo bade, hooking his hands under Blanc's knees and lifting his ass off of the mattress.

Blanc really had no choice, being lifted by his far stronger lover, but did as he was asked, shifting until he was being comfortably exposed to Jingo's hungry advance. When he licked a hot stripe up his taint, the lich let out a whine, arching into the contact.

“Fuck!”

“Good?” Jingo asked between licks, tucking his face into the crux of Blanc's groin and lapping at the smooth skin behind his balls.

“Holy shit,” came Blanc's reply, balling his fists in the pillow beneath his head.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Soft bites peppered the sensitive flesh, interspersed with his lips clamping down, sucking redness into cool flesh, which he would then lave over with his tongue, soothing him, only to repeat the pattern again.

Blanc's voice came a bit louder now, his gasps turning into moans, hisses into groans. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to relax into the flurry of conflicting sensations, all of them so good, all for different reasons. It harried him, making him dizzy in a whirl of input that overwhelmed him just enough to put him off balance. Jingo's saliva coated him from cock to crack, and every hot breath against his moist flesh sent a new thrill through him.

“You're so beautiful,” Jingo soothed, lips moving against Blanc's skin, the soft hum of his voice a pleasant prickle.

“Love you,” Blanc whimpered, reaching down for his lover. Jingo reached a hand up and met him, tangling their fingers together. It never failed to set Jingo's heart alight to hear those words in the pretty necromancer's warm, bassy voice. “So much.”

“Love you too,” Jingo replied, hooking Blanc's legs over his shoulders. He gave his hand one last squeeze before returning to work. Ducking his head down, he gripped Blanc's hips and bent him further over, exposing his ass. A groan of desire left his throat before he even realized it, but he didn't care. He gave the smaller man's ass cheeks a healthy squeeze before pushing his face between them and sweeping his tongue over his puckered hole.

Blanc's back arched, his eyes snapping open to stare blindly at the ceiling as wet heat connected with his most private of parts. A cry left his lips, a breathy warble that sent heat straight to Jingo's cock. “Shit!” he gasped at the end, his free hand rising to his forehead, fingers tangling in his bangs.

“That's it,” Jingo groaned, then circled Blanc's hole with his tongue. “I wanna hear it.”

“Too good,” Blanc hissed. “Your _tongue_!”

Jingo pushed his tongue inside, shallow, just enough to open the lich a little, and delighted in the moan that followed, the stuttering of hips. He spread Blanc's cheeks with his hands and began to push in and pull out, fucking the smaller man shallowly with his tongue, feeling his hole twitch and relax around it.

Each thrust brought forth more noise, more volume, more sound from Blanc's mouth. Any attempt at forming words, articulating his pleasure, was lost amid a whine that rose in pitch as it grew louder. He sang his delectation in tenor, writhing on the bed as Jingo pulled out, circled again, and insinuated his thumbs closer to the lich's hole. He spread him wider, muscle relaxing with every flick of his tongue, and pushed in again, deeper, licking his insides slippery. Blanc wailed, gasping for breath, his eyes wide and unseeing, his body growing stiff, taut, as sensation robbed him of all control.

Jingo's jaw ached, the sign of a job being done well, as he tongue-fucked his lover, groaning, spit covering his face as he pushed it between Blanc's cheeks. He pulled out, lapped at him, and redoubled his efforts, spreading him wider, spearing him deeper, wrenching his voice out in cries that were growing hoarse with desperation.

Blanc keened his approval, the desperate, nonsense sounds of a man rapidly unraveling. Broad, calloused hands massaged his ass as their thumbs opened it, a tongue—viciously hot to his cool, undead flesh—probed and pet and penetrated him. He felt is balls draw up tight, and he knew he was close. He teetered on the edge, ready to go over, gasping and panting loudly, his voice echoing off of the walls of the inn room they had rented.

Jingo could tell. He felt the twitching clenches of Blanc's hole, his rapid ascent toward his climax, and decided to push him off. He pushed his tongue in as deep as he could, curling it and teasing at Blanc's insides, and reached up to wrap a hand around the smaller man's cock. A few tugs were all it took, Blanc fairly howling as he came, cool come milked from him by Jingo's sure, firm grip.

When the clenching around his tongue subsided, Jingo pulled away, placing a soft kiss on his lover's puckered flesh before sitting up on his knees and letting Blanc flop flat onto the bed, panting and overwrought. He licked his hand clean of the lich's seed, enjoying as Blanc watched with exhausted intensity, then wiped his face free of his own spit.

“Fuck,” was all Blanc could say, his voice puffing out around panting breaths.

“How're you doin'?”

“Fuck,” Blanc repeated with a nod, approving.

“Good,” Jingo teased. “Cause now it's my turn.”  
Blanc moaned at that, letting himself be manhandled by Jingo as the larger man again folded him in half, his come smearing on his belly, and reached for the lube on the night stand. Jingo set about slicking up his own cock thoroughly, and when he was satisfied, pushed inside of Blanc's tongue-warmed, spit-slick hole.

Warm at his entrance, Blanc grew cooler the deeper Jingo pushed into his undead body, groaning low and long until he was fully seated inside of the pretty lich.  The contrasting temperatures sent a chill through the taller man, making the hairs on his arms stand up. His own cock was hot, hard, engorged and wanting, and Blanc was room temperature at best where he hadn't been warmed by Jingo's touch, his undead  body producing no heat of its own. Jingo didn't particularly care. It was strange, but not wholly unpleasant, and as Blanc writhed and moaned beneath him, his beautiful brown eyes so full of adoration, the gorgeous lich never looked more alive.

“Jingo, come on! Please! Move! Fuck me!” Blanc whined, rolling his hips against his lover, desperate for more.

“Shit, talk like that some more and I'll come right now,” Jingo growled, leaning down to press their bodies together and bite gently at the smaller man's pale neck.

“Mmm, good. Come in me,” Blanc groaned, lifting his chin to allow Jingo access.

That sent a jolt straight to the swordsman's balls. “Godsdamn,” he grunted, nipping at Blanc's jaw. It spurred him to motion, and soon he was rocking into the smaller man, panting into his shoulder as he pushed deep inside, spearing Blanc over and over. It drove the lich's voice out, up to the ceiling, his overstimulated body fairly vibrating with too much pleasure as Jingo fucked him, calloused hands pawing at his lean body, hot breaths against h i s neck.

“You're so gorgeous,” Jingo gasped, nuzzling where Blanc's jaw met his pointed ear.

“You're just saying that 'cause you're balls deep in my ass,” the lich teased, threading his fingers into Jingo's hair and tightening his grip, his other hand clinging desperately to the swordsman's muscular back.

Jingo groaned, picking up his pace as Blanc tugged a little harder at his hair. “I mean, i t can be a contributing factor,” his words came out rougher, through clenched teeth. “Believe me, I was all mushy over you long before you started letting me fuck your beautiful ass .”

Blanc laughed at that, throwing his head back into a throaty moan. “ How's it feel?”

“Bein' mushy? Or your ass?”

“Either? Both?”

“Fucking  _ amazing _ ,” Jingo cooed, his breaths coming heavier, more laboured, driving deep into Blanc's cool, slick body, heat rising in his gut and balls as he grew ever closer to completion.

Blanc tugged a little harder at Jingo's hair, keening wordlessly between grit teeth. They rocked together, the bed creaking and groaning in acknowledgment of the two tiny men rutting together atop it. Neither man was large enough to move the bed, but together they at least mustered some amount of force as Jingo's fucking grew to a fever pitch.

“I'm gonna come, I'm gonna—”

“Come in me,” Blanc gasped, and it sent Jingo over the edge. With a frayed moan, he bucked in deep and flooded the smaller man with heat, making Blanc shiver at the sensation, the throbs of Jingo's cock teasing his hole.

When at last he was spent, Jingo flopped down onto Blanc, trying hard to stay inside as long as he could. He peppered the lich's jaw, neck, chest, and lips with kisses, whispering words of praise between each press of skin to skin.

“Mmm, love you too,” Blanc soothed, petting fondly at Jingo's shaggy red hair.

“Gods, say it again,” Jingo pleaded, kissing along Blanc's chin.

“I love you,” Blanc repeated, a small smile crossing his lips.

“Never stop,” Jingo begged, pitching up onto his hands to look the smaller man in the eyes.

Blanc chuckled, looking up into those bright green eyes, full of joy. “Never will.”


End file.
